


Terran Females Gone Wild

by lirulin



Series: Sarek and Amanda [9]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Girls Gone Wild Sort Of, Humor, Pornography, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-10
Updated: 2009-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 05:53:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20187355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lirulin/pseuds/lirulin
Summary: Amanda finds a disc belonging to her husband and, at first, is not entirely certain what she's watching.





	Terran Females Gone Wild

**Author's Note:**

> This particular piece was posted to the ST XI Kinkmeme but I have no idea which part so it may not match the original posting entirely. Posted out of sequence with the other pieces in this series, this piece predates Spock.

At first, Amanda wasn't quite certain what she was watching.

Years of vid-streams and various wavs on Earth had conditioned her—when she saw the steady but obviously hand-mounted camera, she'd immediately decided that it had to be a candid show. The flat, over-the-top accent of the narrator immediately recalled memories of classic documentaries and dramatic historical accounts, but further inspection proved this to be neither. 

_ “Now just you watch these wild and crazy Terrans,”_ the thick-voiced narrator professed through the speakers of her wall mounted screen. She'd activated the player to have something to listen to as she worked, and this had issued forth in place of her well-watched classic motion pictures. Amanda craned her head back from her papers and eyed the screen as the camera panned forward and locked on to a set of giggling girls in damp t-shirts. Her eyebrows crept up as her confusion slowly ratcheted, and she actually pushed herself back from her desk so that she could better orient to the screen.

_ “Oh no, Chrissy! You got my shirt all wet!”_ One of the girls protested and shoved her compatriot squarely in the chest. Amanda didn't miss the heavy-handed, well scripted way in which her hands managed to slide across the other girl's ample endowments. 

_ “It's okay! We can all be wet!” _ Another of the girls suggested with a giggle and their conversation immediately degenerated into vigorous, staged kissing. Amanda blinked as a graphic flashed across the screen and the narrator informed her that--_Harry Mudd's Women are top notch, no matter the video!_ Once he'd gone silent, the scene faded and was replaced by a garish menu-screen touting the words: _Terran Females Gone Wild Volume V_. She stared at it for a long time before conscious thought managed to niggle its way back into her brain.

It couldn't have been a broadcast wave—not in Shi'Kahr, or anywhere on Vulcan, for that matter—so it had to be a tape. She hadn't ordered this and couldn't honestly remember the last time she'd purchased any kind of porn...(Though the porn industry was notorious for sending unwanted mail, even in this day and age. God only knew how they'd managed to find her on Vulcan, of all places.) At least she knew she'd never bought (or heard of) Harry Mudd's videos. 

With a frown, Amanda pulled up the parcel post records and found that she'd not received any junk mail in her entire stay on Vulcan. Though convenient, that fact didn't shed any particular light on the current situation. If she hadn't received it—that left precisely two eventualities. Either her husband had spontaneously developed a sense of humor and ordered it to get a rise out of her—or it was in the office player by accident and she was never supposed to be aware of its existence. In either case, Sarek was clearly to blame, as he was the only one with access to the room besides herself.

“Well, my day just got a whole lot more interesting,” Amanda commented blithely and tapped the controls on her desk, willing the tape to play.

_ “Welcome to Harry Mudd's _ Terran Females Gone Wild_ Volume Vee! V is for Vulcan, after all, and this video is **especially** for our pointy-eared brethren.”_ The title flashed and Amanda sputtered a laugh—she could only imagine who'd thought this was a particularly good sales venture...but it _was_ in her Vulcan husband's possession...so that did lend it some credibility. The title block faded and the camera flashed to the portly, mustache clad face of...presumably...Harry Mudd as he 'shh'd' the camera and focused it in the dim lighting.

He was at a party—the lights were flashing neon colors and Amanda heard the tell-tale hooting of drunken adolescent males. She rolled her eyes as she saw the _San Angeles_ ridge in the background and immediately knew where this was going. True to form, it took less than fifteen seconds for the camera to pan a room. Girls bounced appreciatively and Amanda grew more and more bored by the moment. 

“Computer,” Amanda addressed the station behind her as she depressed the vocal command menu. The computer trilled back at her. “Does this disc have assigned bookmarks?” The computer trilled an affirmative and a smirk spread across Amanda's face. She pulled up the first one and the video jogged. Amanda watched with amusement as the (very obviously unaware) women on the screen innocently enjoyed a series of frozen deserts in the hot summer sun. Amanda couldn't place the particular location, but it was bright, sunny, and she could make out the heat as it radiated off the concrete. The woman each had ice-cream of some variety and were eating it with casual glee.

“Where is this going?” Amanda asked after several minutes. The brunette on the left wasn't eating hers fast enough and the ice cream rolled down her fingers in swift, sticky drips. She jumped and her free hand dove under the confection to catch the spill as she pulled her hand up and immediately started lapping at her fingers in panicked urgency. Her friends ignored her and mocked her slightly, but the video focused in on her tongue and lips as they traced the contours of her hand—Ah, Amanda thought with a nod, and tabbed to the next bookmark. 

The disc had twelve bookmarks in all and each of them made it more and more obvious as to why this video was directed at Vulcans. The vast majority of the scenes featured women chewing on their nails, licking something or another off their hands, and in one, piercing their ears. For her life, Amanda couldn't remember seeing pornography with less actual porn in it. But, as boring as it had been, she was going to have an inordinate amount of fun with this knowledge. With a smirk, she deactivated the panel and stood from her desk—work could wait, she only had an hour or so before Sarek would be home.

* * *

Amanda looked up slightly as she heard the computer trill behind her—the front door had been opened. With a smirk, she leaned back in her chair and stretched her legs out. She had been meaning to get a bit of sunlight—as it was, she could only manage the proper exposure to sunlight when all three of Vulcan's suns were in sync over this section of the planet. She'd already set aside part of this week to sunbathe, if only for the Vitamin E, but this opportunity had been far too perfect. 

She felt the mental tug as Sarek tried to ascertain her location—though he had great difficulty weaving his way into her mind through their link, his gentle nudging always elicited the same response from Amanda—and she called to him through the opened window above her. “I'm outside.”

She could feel his curiosity hovering in the back of her mind, and she fought back the smile that threatened to spread across her face—no, it wouldn't do to blow the whole game this early on. With an absolutely innocent, casual expression of calm, Amanda folded her legs along the length of the chair and leaned back to allow full exposure along her neck. 

“The refractive index is at a considerable level,” Sarek's baritone resounded through the doorway as the door slid open. She could hear the soft tapping of his fingers against the display—she had no idea what he was reading and didn't bother to open her eyes and find out. “It wou—” The warning died in his throat—how she'd managed to keep from laughing right then and there, even she wasn't sure. “I have never seen this...ensemble before.”

“Hm?” Amanda asked casually and shifted her hands to fold them across her exposed stomach. She cracked an eye open and glanced at her husband—he was standing beside her chair, stock still as though he could frighten her off with motion, and his eyes were locked on the white bikini she'd replicated for the occasion. “Oh, this?” Amanda asked and looked down at the collective quarter yard of replicated spandex. “I replicated it this morning,” Amanda explained truthfully and looked back up at him.

“Indeed,” Sarek commented idly and, with some effort, reined himself back together. “It's purpose is questionable,” he added and Amanda blinked at him. She _knew_ he was talking about how small it was, and if she wanted to cover herself for modesty's sake she could have chosen a far less stylish cut. However, the name of this game was not: understand and agree with Sarek.

“Oh!” Amanda commented lightly and shook her head as she leaned forward. “You're absolutely right—_old habits,_” she said as she reached behind her back and pulled deftly at the bow tying the small top on. The strings gave and, with no preamble, Amanda whipped the top off and draped it over the top of the chair. 

“You are removing your clothing,” Sarek stated in a dry, quick voice—he was rarely at a loss for words, but when he was he employed that very tone. Amanda looked up at him as she undid the knot at her hip. Her eyebrows went up and she cocked her head at him in confusion.

“Well yes,” Amanda answered. “If I'm going to sunbathe, specifically to absorb sunlight” Amanda explained as she pulled the bottom of her minuscule swimsuit off and draped it alongside its other half—she heard the sharp, nasal intake of breath as Sarek undoubtedly noticed the light tan lines that had already formed across her pelvis and ribs. She'd been hoping to avoid that, but _cest la vie_. “It would be silly to slow everything down just for modesty's sake,” Amanda finished and turned back to her husband—his eyes snapped onto hers as though he'd been caught doing something disreputable, “I am in my own yard, secluded and everything.”

“You are not entirely secluded,” Sarek pointed out, but his correction lacked any edge.

“Oh you,” Amanda waved her hand at him with a smile and he watched the arc of the appendage as it moved away from her uncovered breasts and then settled back against her hip. She remained facing him and reached blindly for the drink she'd taken out with her—it was a tall glass of replicated lemonade she'd perched on the table beside her lounging chair. Her fingers contacted the edge of the glass, but _miscalculated_ and knocked the drink off its precarious perch. Amanda gave a small cry—one that was not entirely acting—as the cold liquid spilled across her right arm and stomach. Hers and Sarek's attention darted to the glass—she picked it up gingerly and shuffled it into her clean hand before trying to swipe off the remainder of her drink with her right.

“Could you take this?” Amanda asked quickly and held the sticky glass out to Sarek. He took it from her silently and she didn't have to look up to know that he was watching her intently. Almost unconsciously, she ran the pads of her left fingers across her lips and tongue, cleaning them of the sticky drink. Once they were clean, she gripped the side of the chair with her left hand and used the leverage to move her away from the pile of ice that had settled against her buttocks. She managed to sweep the ice onto the patio, alongside a good deal of the drink, and sat back with a tight frown. She flexed her right fingers and grimaced at the rapidly drying lemonade.

“Well, that's shot,” Amanda commented and turned back to her husband, “Oh well, no point in crying over spilt' lemonade.” Amanda shrugged and leaned back.

“Spilt,” Sarek began, his voice tight as his grip on the PADD in his left hand, as he set the empty glass on the threshold. “Is not a word.” He opened his mouth to add a comment (likely about crying and lemonade) but closed it instantly as Amanda gave her right index finger a long lick before sliding it, casually into her mouth. His grip on the PADD tightened and she could swear she heard it crack as she pulled the finger free from her mouth with an audible pop. She slid her tongue over the webbing of that finger and then across her knuckles, the light taste of the lemonade made all the sweeter by her husband's obviously perturbed display.

“It's a euphemism, dear,” Amanda explained and licked up the exterior side of her hand from her wrist to the tip of her pinky. His eyes followed her hand as she traced the tips of her fingers with her tongue, laving away the tangy sweetness of her spilled drink. She nearly laughed at his sharp frown when she folded her hands across her bare stomach and ceased licking her fingers. “So what were you going to say about the refractive index?” His frown deepened and he blinked twice before straightening up. He locked eyed with her, his expression forcibly even.

“It is not reccomendable to remain outside,” Sarek announced, a trace of regret tinging his words, “the index is at a level unhealthy for Terrans.”

“Oh?” Amanda asked and pouted slightly as she pushed herself up from her chair, “Well then I guess it's high time.” Sarek's hand landed on her shoulder, presumably to prevent her from rising, but the coolness of it startled her. Apparently the oddness of the contact startled him as well, because he pulled his hand back quickly and eyed her shoulder. “Oh no,” she said quickly and scrambled out of the chair—all attempts at seduction forgotten. 

“Is there a medical emergency?” Sarek prompted quickly as Amanda darted into the house and through the kitchen hallway to the lavatory. Sarek followed after her at a clipped pace—his steps grew quicker when she let out a low moan. 

“Aaah,” Amanda groaned and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked significantly less alluring under fluorescent lights: sticky, with tan lines, and—she noted sadly—a light pinkish flush across her face and shoulders. She'd been so exited about messing with her husband, she'd forgotten to apply any form of sunscreen and had lingered too long in the full brunt of Vulcan's sunlight. “I have a sunburn,” she clarified as Sarek's alert expression failed to dissipate. He arched an eyebrow and his vision roamed her in a manner that was purely medical. Eventually, his even expression darkened and he drew himself up.

“I must apologize,” Sarek submitted and Amanda arched an eyebrow at his reflection.

“What?” Amanda stared—it wasn't like he'd put her up to this...not consciously, anyway. 

“Had I not been distracted,” Sarek admitted quickly and Amanda's heart skipped a beat—she couldn't tell if she was blushing or if it was the sunburn developing. “You might have suffered less severity in this...burn.”

Amanda stared at him for a very long time and, finally, couldn't manage to control her laughter. It started as a slow smile—that tugged into a chuckle which snowballed into full blown laughter—and eventually lead her to leaning on the sink as she tried not to shake her head. When she looked up, her husband looked perfectly confused and affronted. She turned from his reflection to face the real Sarek and shook her head.

“No, dear,” she corrected sweetly and placed her hands on his chest, “This one's all on me.”

“Most decidedly,” Sarek agreed and arched an eyebrow. The colloquialism escaped him.

“Think I can get you to rub cooling lotion where I can't reach?” Amanda asked sweetly and his eyes regained some of the alertness they'd held on the patio.

“Of course.”


End file.
